


What The Sun Has Made

by Octavianius



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Blood and Violence, Darkin - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Icathia, M/M, May mention the future later, Mild Sexual Content, Other, Set in the Past, Shurima, War, ascended, dont want to tag it too much cause i dont wanna give it away obviously, i dont know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-09
Updated: 2019-09-09
Packaged: 2020-10-13 02:22:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20574872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Octavianius/pseuds/Octavianius
Summary: The moonlight is bringing forward things long forgotten.All things that were buried began to come forward in his mind, replacing the rage and bloodlust that had been the center of his attention for what felt like forever. Memories of his before, blurry and painful after being drowned out by his now, filled his head. The world around him shifted into sand and moments of the past moved around him like a cyclone. It seemed in every one of them he was fighting for something; his love, his empire, his life. He let more of these memories come, allowing them to be fuel for a reignited flame, and he adjusted the grip on his blade.He has been fighting since the beginning.He will be fighting until the end of everything.





	1. Loss and Gain

**Author's Note:**

> He does not yet understand what the universe has taken from him, nor what it has given him in return.

In his earliest memory he is waddling in the shallow waters of the _River_ _Renek_, with his mother’s soft hands holding his small body steady as he jumped and splashed, her gentle laugh tickling his ears. The sun is setting behind them, the heat of the day giving way to coolness of twilight. He can see the lights of torches reflecting off the surface of the calm water and the smell of meat cooking over a fire in their village. Laughter and the sounds of music follow the smells, the sure sign of a celebration.

Warriors have come home.

While others went to the village square to celebrate their victories and safe return, his mother took him to the river to play. For a long time, she had sat in the damp sand quietly, watching his attempts to catch minnows or grab the light bouncing off the water’s blue surface. He had not seen her tears or heard her sobs, too occupied with childhood happiness and ignorance to understand the pain that gripped her soul and heart. Only now had she joined him in the river, the salt of her tears dried on her cheeks. She laughed with him, even with the pain still fresh in her mind.

“_Xara’Sai_,” It was her pet name for him, _Flower of the Desert_. He didn’t understand it yet. “There is something we must do now.” He stops his splashing to look at his mother, her brilliant sapphire eyes nearly glowing against the darkness of her skin. He only knows that these are his mother’s eyes, nothing of the red that rims them.

Slowly, she kneels by him and removes the thin twine bracelet from her wrist. A single wooden charm hangs from the string, a graceful carving of the sun adorning the surface. She holds the charm in her palm, swiping the design with her thumb as she breathed slowly.

“You must learn that when we lose something, it is better to let to it go.” She places the charm into his tiny hand and lowers it to the water. “Sooner, not later. There is life to be lived.”

They release the charm, and the current carries it away.

* * *

When he is six, a new family moves to his village from Nerimazeth. He knows it is a distant city, the old capital, and that it must have taken several days of travel to get to his little village on the edge of the _River_ _Renek_. But he has never met anyone from outside of the village, and when he meets the family’s young girl, Nah’eemah, he does not spare her any of his questions.

He finds out that she is older than him, an only child, and that she is the eldest of all her cousins. He asks about each of them, every aunt and uncle, learns each of their names. When he asks about her parents, she tells him that her father is a politician and her mother a seamstress. He asks about her journey and why they came here, of all places.

“Papa says there is better business in the new capital, but mama wanted to live in a smaller town. Nerimazeth was too big for her and that there were too many people. She says this village is close enough to the capital, it is a good compromise.” Compromise. He wonders what that means.

“Oh,” They were sat together on the floor of his mother’s little home, playing with the toys Nah’eemah had brought with her. He had only one toy, a small wooden cart given to him by the old craftsman who lived above him. But Nah’eemah had many dolls and little animal figurines, more toys than he could ever wish to have. “So, while he works there, you will live here?” He looked at the animals curiously, spotting a bull and a goat among a jackal and crocodile. He didn’t dare touch them.

“Yes.”

“Won’t you miss him?”

“I suppose.”

She was brushing the hair of one of her dolls, running her fingers through its coarse hair before deciding it was good enough to work with. He watches her as she begins to braid its hair, and then he wonders if maybe she would braid his hair too. It was a long, curly mess and though his mother would sometimes pull it back out of his face in a neat piece down his back, her hands were often cursed with aches. He was left looking like a stray dog on more days than his mother liked to admit.

Nah’eemah’s grey eyes flicker up to his face. “What does your father do?”

“My father was a great warrior. My mother says that he fought alongside Renekton in battles.” Almost on their own, his shoulders square proudly. Whenever he mentions his father, he would be overcome with admiration. He had never known the man himself, but the stories his mother told made his father out to be a warrior worthy of Ascension. He was sure that if his father were alive, he would have been the greatest Ascended to have ever lived.

“Is he not a warrior anymore?” He is silent for a long moment, staring at the animals and thinking which one his father might have taken the form of.

"No. My father is dead." 


	2. Adolescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is only the beginning of his changes, though he wishes they would end.

He is twelve when he starts work at the farm in his village. It is a tradition that boys and girls at that age would begin to have their fair share of work and responsibility by helping with the harvest and managing the livestock. When their work was done, many children went back to playing or began to learn another trade, while some learned how to handle a weapon; fathers teaching their sons how to spar with wooden swords, mothers showing their daughters the art of archery. When they turned fifteen, they had the choice to leave their jobs at the farm and pick up another trade fulltime. A few would stay on the farm, others would become merchants or blacksmiths, and the brave ones would join the Shuriman military. Most already knew what they wanted to do from an early age, but he never had an inkling. He is thirteen now and was still only good at nothing other than sowing seeds and feeding chickens. Others who worked with him seemed to have many skills under their belts, whether it be hunting, woodworking, or blacksmithing, it was something. Nah’eemah was already a skilled seamstress, fixing his clothes when they were damaged and going as far as to make him new ones for his birthday. Even if she was a year older than him, it still hurt his pride to be left behind.

He wanted to be brave.

In his free time or late at night, he would practice sparing alone against a tree with farms tools and sticks, trying to mimic what he saw the other children do, what he saw their parents teach them. Nah’eemah and his mother would even encourage him to go play with those other children, to learn from those parents, but he could never learn to play nice. He knows that they talk about him behind his back, about how he was a fatherless, scrawny, loner; how he is the child of an outsider. Who were they thinking it was their business who his mother was or where he came from? Who did they -

“Come on you, pay attention or you’ll hurt yourself, _amhali_.” He brings his attention back to Abel, the farmer’s son, who was showing him how to use a scythe to harvest. At least, he was attempting to show him before he started losing his thoughts. “You’ve got your head in the sky again.”

He shakes his head, trying to clear his brain of his unwarranted anger, and gets a good grip on the sharp tool in his hands. These are feelings he can save for later, perhaps while he is practicing.

“You’ve been like that lately. Out in your own world. What is on your mind, _amhali_?”

“Stop calling me that.”

Abel laughs, not catching the edge in his voice, and leans against his own scythe. “Alright, alright. Seriously, what has got you distracted?”

He sighs and shoves the blade of the tool into the dirt. “Do you think I will be good at anything? Besides this?”

“Is the present not good enough for you?” Abel makes a face of mock offense and points a dirty finger at him. “Is harvesting wheat and grain all bad, child?”

“Abel, I am serious. It is not that it is bad work and I know many others find it to be good for them. But for me it is not...” _Enough. _He shrugs weakly. Abel was the closest thing he had to a cousin. They had played together as children, and though Abel was several years older than himself, he had always found it easy to talk to the farmer’s son. Besides Nah’eemah, Abel was one of the only people he truly got along with.

“I suppose I am a bit biased. It is expected of me to inherit my father’s land and I will always be proud to work it. It is not for everyone, and I think I can confidently say it is not for you, _amhali_.”

He groans. There it was again, the little word for daydreamer. It was not meant to be an affectionate term, but somehow it always seemed to be meant that way when spoken to him. At least, coming out of Abel’s mouth it was.

The man smiles softly. “Your father was a solider, was he not?”

“Yes.” He is staring at the ground now, studying where the blade of the scythe had impaled the earth and teasing the sharp edge with his sandal. “He was.”

“Every year or so, the army comes down the river for volunteers, looking to replace the ones they have lost in battle.” Abel uses his foot to kick the scythe out of the dirt, startling him. The man helps him position the tool correctly in his hands. “Even if you do not know much about fighting or wielding a sword, they will show you. So long as you join in the name of Shurima, they will teach you how to be a fighter.” He watches as Abel picks up his own scythe, holding it out in front of himself and inspecting the blade. It was not as if the thought had never crossed his mind before, joining the Shuriman military. At night after practicing he would sit by the river, stare at the reflection of the stars on the water and wonder if he had the guts to do it, if joining would make his father proud, if his mother would even let him.

It was either that or he would spend the rest of his life on this damn farm.

“Not that they have to teach you much. You’ve already got the blood of a warrior. Now let’s make sure you have the listening skills of a General. Pay attention this time…”

* * *

“I think you’ve got a crush.”

“I think you’ve gone stupid.”

Nah’eemah groans and then chuckles, giving him a look as if she’s been offended. “I’ve gone stupid?”

“Yes.”

She laughs again and it makes him smile. There is something so carefree in her happiness, it brings out a feeling in him that he isn’t sure he has ever felt before. As if he was lighter than usual.

What was that?

“What is so stupid about you having a crush?” She looks at him and he notices that her eyes are as gold as the Sun Disc. Even if they had known each other for years, it still surprised him to see how her eyes could change colors so drastically. Yesterday they were grey, the day before green. He always wondered if it meant something. “Hello!?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I asked what was so stupid about you having a crush, aren’t you listening?”

He sighs and leans back in the sand. “This isn’t about me,” She was looking at him weirdly, as if some gross object was sitting on his face. “This is about you thinking that I have a crush in the first place, which I do not.”

It was not entirely true. Though he did not have a crush, there were absolutely people that he found attractive. There was the older, blue eyed boy who worked with him in the field. He wore his black hair in a long braid down his back, and often he was shirtless due to the heat, showing off toned muscles and the markings of a mage. Then there was the girl his age who worked alongside his mother at the bakery. She had eyes like mud, skin the color of chestnuts, and always smiled at him when he came to pick up his mother. He was attracted to these people, but he didn’t know them. He had hardly spoken to either one.

He had heard older kids talk about being with another, seen them sneaking kisses between buildings when they thought no one was looking, unable to keep their hands off each other’s bodies. He talked to Abel, who said that it was completely normal to have these urges for someone else, but to probably wait to act on those urges. But he had still wondered: did they know each other? Were they just doing it for fun? Was it something more? "Everyone is different. Everyone has their thing," Abel has said.

She was still giving him that strange look, as if his very face was bothersome. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“I can’t just look at you?”

“You’re looking at me like I’ve grown a third eye. I’m truly not that interesting.”

“I disagree.”

“You always disagree.” He looks at her as she turns away from him to stare at the flowing water of the river. He decides that she has a soft face and sun kissed skin, freckles dotted her cheeks and shoulders. Her hair falls down her back in waves, and he knows that it is brown, but it looks nearly golden in the sunlight. She had started to gain curves around her bust and bottom, though he tried not to look there too long. Whenever they hugged he could feel the difference, how she was fuller, if not a bit squishy. 

Was he allowed to look at his best friend that way?

He clears his throat loudly, trying to chase the thoughts from his mind. Nah’eemah turns to face him again and this time, her look was softer.

“You are certain you don’t have a crush?”

He laughs. “I’m certain Nahie. Really.”

He decides that it was a lie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. Longer chapter hooray! lol  
Up until this point i really have just been fleshing these ideas out in my head, so it may take me a while to get them written out. Except this chapter, because i was extra motivated today :) 
> 
> Shuriman Translations 
> 
> Xara'Sai (Zair-ah-Sigh) = Flower of the Desert  
Amhali (Om-haul-ee) = Daydreamer  
Sya (Syah) = The Word you say when you stub your pinkie toe

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody asked for a story about the darkin, or their lives before they were darkin, but I asked for it, so i wrote it, and here it is. I have an unhealthy obsession with Shurima and the Ascended and the lore that surrounds them, hence, this fanfiction. 
> 
> It has been many years since I've written any kind of fanfiction or any kind of fiction at all, so I'm rusty and I'm sorry if this isn't very good lol. Please let me know what you think, where I can improve, grammar, anything like that. There will be more on the way soon, hopefully. Updates may not be consistent because of school, but I will try. 
> 
> Some italics are Shuriman words that I have made up. There will be translations and pronunciations at the end of every chapter. It will be the same list here, and then whatever new words I come up with. 
> 
> Xara'Sai (Zair-ah-Sigh) = Flower of the Desert  
Amhali (Om-haul-ee) = Daydreamer  
Sya (Syah) = The word you use when you stub your pinkie toe


End file.
